


Doesn't That Beet All

by Katzedecimal



Series: The Kitchen God's Strife [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bad Puns, Crack, Gen, cookery gone wrong
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 22:29:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katzedecimal/pseuds/Katzedecimal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another one of Sherlock's attempts to cook for John goes badly.  This time, he's landed in jail!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Doesn't That Beet All

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock, just... just _stop_ , alright? Please? It's too painful to keep writing these XDDD

John burst through the doors and was immediately met by an officer. "This way, Dr. Watson." He followed down the halls, into the high security areas and down into the holding cells. 

There, gazing at him forlornly, was the last person John wanted to see behind bars. John caught his breath at the sight of him: Sherlock's clothes were spattered with blood, his hands red with it. "Oh no," John sighed. 

"Don't bother going home, Dr. Watson." John turned to see Detective Sergeant Donovan smirking at him. "It's a crime scene now. I always knew one day just solving murders wouldn't be enough for that freak."

John grit his teeth and summoned every ounce of Captain Watson calm he had, "What happened?"

"Inspector Dimmock sent me around, he wanted the freak's help on a case. I entered your flat and saw **this.** " She thrust out a series of photographs. 

The kitchen of 221b was absolutely spattered with blood. There were pieces of kitchen roll on the worktops, blood showing bright red against the white paper. There was a photo of a kitchen knife in an evidence bag, its blade stained red. "The place reeks of blood," Donovan told him. He could swear she sounded gleeful. 

"Hello, John." John turned around again, this time to see Detective Inspector Lestrade coming in, looking tired. "Sorry about this, John," he sighed, "Can you talk to him? He won't answer us."

"Where'd you hide the body, freak? Who's your victim?" Donovan snapped out. 

"Maybe you're asking the wrong questions," John said grimly. 

Anderson thrust his head around the door, grinning viciously, "We've got blood!"

"Tell me whose, Anderson," Lestrade sighed, rubbing his forehead. 

John knew he couldn't take much more of this before he punched somebody and got thrown in with Sherlock. "Let me talk to him," he said. Lestrade nodded to the duty guard, who opened the cell door. 

Sherlock lifted his eyes to meet John's compassionate gaze. The sight of those ice blue eyes, helpless, hopeless of belief yet still defiant, was a pain in John's heart. He stepped forward then knelt down and gathered Sherlock's blood-smeared hands in his own. "Sherlock..." he whispered. He inhaled to sigh, taking in the smells of Sherlock's shampoo, the metallic tang of blood and the smell of....... ..... ....vegetables? He looked down at Sherlock's hands and noticed that some of the stains looked pinker than others, some almost... magenta? 

Something started to ping at the back of John's mind. He glanced up at Sherlock then withdrew an antiseptic wipe from his pocket and drew it over one of the blood streaks. A smear of blood came away but the underlying fuschia stain didn't. _Blood doesn't stain skin,_ John thought. Then he remembered an episode of one of those A &E-stories shows and he looked up at Sherlock again, "Sherlock.. what happened?"

And Sherlock answered, "I was trying to make Great-Aunt Amalthea's roasted beet borscht for you."

"Beets," John repeated, a smile spreading onto his face. He looked away, at the concerned Lestrade and gloating Donovan, then looked back at Sherlock, "You were cooking beets."

"Roasting them," Sherlock agreed, "You have to peel them after they're cooked but they're hot, so I was trying to hold them with some kitchen roll but they're slippery and the knife slipped."

John looked at Sherlock's hands again, now noticing where his wiping had opened some slice wounds. "And you cut yourself."

"I went to the loo to get a plaster and when I came back, Sergeant Donovan was there."

"This could use a stitch or two," John said as he cleaned away the blood and examined the wounds, "This one will be fine with a few butterfly closures though." He looked up again, still grinning, "Did the soup survive?"

"I don't know. They didn't let me turn the hob off before hauling me out, so it's probably burned." 

John nodded understanding. He gave Sherlock another smile then got to his feet and went back to the door. 

Lestrade looked up sadly as John emerged from the cell. "Well?"

John sighed and shook his head, noting Donovan's triumphant smirk. "You're... probably going to have to book him for involuntary beet-slaughter."

Lestrade nodded sadly, "I was hoping she would be...What?"

"It's beet juice, Greg."

"What?" Lestrade said again, followed by Donovan's incredulous, " **Beets?** "

"Beets," John confirmed, "He was making borscht." The grin dropped off Donovan's face. 

Anderson reappeared, looking considerably less victorious. "Erm...."

"Out with it," Lestrade grated, "What are the results? Who's blood did you find?"

"Erm.. it's... It's his, Inspector. It's Holmes's blood."

"He cut himself while peeling the beets," John said helpfully, "Beets are slippery, you see."

"So there is, in fact, no evidence that any crime took place," Lestrade confirmed. 

"I don't know, you could probably do him for a-salt and beet-ery," John offered. Donovan groaned. John grinned, "Sorry, Sergeant, once again Sherlock has you beet."

"Oh for God's sake..."

"He's not a bad person just because he walks off the beeten path." 

"Just stop it, will you?"

"Or my friend could press charges of harassement against you, as there's certainly ample grounds and it would not be difficult for us to subpoena the CCTV footage of all the times you've called him a freak and verbally abused him and I will absolutely back him up in court as a credible eye witness. Would you prefer that?" John had such a friendly teddy-bear face, it was easy to forget that bears had teeth and claws. Donovan paled as the implications settled in. "No? Then take you'll take whatever punishment I see fit to beet out." Even Lestrade groaned at that one. 

"You might be beeting a dead horse, John," Sherlock said, having been released. 

John turned and smiled at him, "Ah, you're out of the stew! Souper!" More groans. 

Then the Yarders were treated to the very rare sight of one of Sherlock's genuine grins. "Leaf it alone, John," he said, "Let's not stalk about it." 

"Oh not him too?!"

"I just don't see the a-peel."

Donovan ~~a-peeled~~ appealed to Lestrade, "Get them out of here!"

"You brought him in!"

"Are we free to go, Greg?" John asked him, "Because my patient requires medical attention for those slices, although I'd be willing to let Sally watch so she can learn the difference between blood and beet juice." Donovan scowled. 

Lestrade waved them off with a bright grin of his own, "Beet it, you two."

Chased by the deafening groans, they did.

**Author's Note:**

> I regret nothing :3


End file.
